Flying and Falling
by Quirk'd
Summary: Movieverse, eventual Nika/47: The story of what Nika Boronia once was, how she lost herself, and how she found herself once more in a killer that saved her life.


**Disclaimer: I don't own Hitman (*sobs*).**

**Chapter One: Little Girl Lost**

Nika Boronia stood naked in the line, feeling the eyes of leering men travel down her teenage body. The bustling and shouts of the busy market merged together, a blur of sound and movement.

"Damn it, blyadischa, move fucking forward! It's your turn," an equally naked older woman snapped in guttural Russian, the scars on her throat moving as she spoke behind her. Her name was Sonja something.

This was a slave market: a dirty, diseased example of modern Russia's underbelly. Markets like this could be found in every slum across the country, and girls were sold regularly on the black market: sex trade, mostly. And Nika, barely fifteen years old, was going to be sold. Like livestock.

***

It wasn't meant to be this way. Her father's vineyard had failed, and he'd been forced to sell. The man he'd sold it to (_…Vladov, Vladimir…something like that…)_ had promised her a free trip to the city, to earn money to send to her family. Waitressing, housekeeping, whatever. She'd accepted, so excited at the chance to go to the big city. _What a fool I was. So, so, naïve._

***

Nika looked down at the boards of the stage, long streaks of mud blotting the wood. She could feel the rough ropes that bound her hands had already scratched the skin of her wrists raw. Moving forward to the centre of the stage, she saw a tall man who stood waiting. It was cold, and she shivered as she approached the auctioneer. The wind bit at her bare skin. Her dark hair hid her face from the world.

***

"_Goodbye Nika!"_ her parents had called out as the truck had driven further and further away from her home. That was one of the clearest memories she had: their happy, smiling faces as they waved her farewell from the dusty road. They'd had such hope for her, their little girl going to the big city. Two hours later, the driver had pulled over and smashed a club into the back of her head. She hadn't seen it coming—hadn't even thought to run until it was too late.

She'd woken up to a girl's sobbing, darkness and movement beneath her. Looking around in panic, she'd seen a huddled crowd of young, frightened faces smeared with dirt and tracked with tears. They all had sat in the dark inside of carrier truck: she had smelt the reek of sweat and shit and fear. It was then that she'd realised that she was in deep, deep trouble. Because she'd read about this in the newspapers. This was the slave trade. That… that _fucker_ Vladimir or Vladov had delivered her into a life of hell.

***

_How much did he get for me?_ she thought, slowly walking forward. _What am I worth?_

"Gimme some of that!" a bearded man roared, reaching over and trying to grab her from the sidelines. She cringed away from his grasping fingers and took her place next to the tall man with the piece of paper, bowing her head. Before her was a large crowd of men, shuffling and staring. Ready to bid. _Why is this happening to me? Why?_

"Number nineteen: Nika. Black hair, high cheekbones, obedient, healthy, uninjured, no scars, fresh, sexy, fifteen. Bidding starts at a two hundred American dollars," the man intoned, reading off the list. With a long cane, he turned her around and began pointing out her new barely-there breasts. Her backside. Her vagina. He made her slowly turn around, to a chorus of wolf whistles. For the next ten minutes, her price rose higher and higher. She felt numb. She'd cried so many tears since her abduction, her eyes felt dry and aching. A thought of escape crossed her mind –she immediately dismissed it. Trying to get away right now would be suicide. But she would get away, the first chance she could.

As she listened to the bidding, Nika was reminded of an old Chinese curse that her father had once told her about: _May you always live in interesting times_. Even at the age of six, the little girl that Nika used to be had caught the sinister undertone. Now she thought, while looking at the world she'd fallen into with a soundless horror, that if one more _interesting_ thing happened she'd go fucking insane.

The bidding stopped suddenly, and the auctioneer craned his head to the left. Nika looked up, blinking: a limousine was cruising down the crowded, filthy street. As she stood there, vulnerable and broken, she couldn't help but feel a flicker of hope. Was it possible that she was going to be saved? The limousine stopped in front of the market. A strong-looking man stepped out of the front seat of the vehicle–muscles, suit, dark sunglasses—maybe a bodyguard. _Will you please, please help me?_ Nika thought desperately, her bound hands clenching into fists. Her chapped lips stung in the wind. Tiny drops of rain began to fall; they slipped down her trembling skin like teardrops.

The man walked up to the stage as the other bidders quickly moved away. Anyone could see that this guy belonged to big money, and no one was going to mess with that. The poor kept to the poor.

"My boss says two-fifty American for the girl," the guy said to the auctioneer, his Russian fluent and clear. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

"Ah sir, no. This one is beautiful, young, untouched. Four-hundred."

The stranger looked her up and down, his eyes unreadable behind his shades. He didn't look at her face. No one _ever_ looked at her face anymore.

"Three hundred, or no deal."

"Three-fifty."

"_Three hundred_," the man growled. The auctioneer thought it over, staring up at the cloudy skies. He glanced over to her: she kept her head down.

"Fine. She's all his. And tell your _boss_ that I make no refunds, so no more returning damaged goods."

And with that, Nika Boronia was sold. The three hundred dollar bills were exchanged; the fifteen-year old was bundled unceremoniously into the car. She didn't say a word and didn't meet anyone's eyes. Before she was shoved roughly into the back seat, she could hear the slave market continue.

"…_Number twenty: Sonja. Brown hair…"_

Nika knew that things were going to get worse, or very worse. Either way, she'd get away somehow.

Somehow, she'd get away.

The promise to herself sang like liquid fire in her heart, burning into the flesh.

***

FIN

***

A/N: Ugh. It will get better, I promise. This is only the beginning… so just bear with me. And please review, even if you think it's complete crap. Reviews = oxygen. I have wildly optimistic intentions on making this a complete story of what happened to Nika before, during and maybe (if I'm brave) even after the movie. So feedback would help a lot, hint-hint-nudge-nudge-wink-wink.

**Q**


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